The Black Knight
by The One And Only Jack Sparrow
Summary: He's been terrorizing the entire Cerapiri Empire for about 5 years. And now, it's time for his 'Judgement Day'.
1. 1

"Bleak, very bleak.

"That is how most people describe the once flourishing kingdom of Lerufna. At one point in time, it was the jewel of the whole empire, its finest city, Rednalwen, larger than the capital of the entire empire.

"But now, things are different.

"The once fine city, its high peaks, terraces, and walls, all constructed from red marble, were viewable from all but the very lowest of valleys. Now, it is red tinted with black, and two of the four watch towers have crumbled. None have dared rebuild them, for fear of the Black Knight."

"Who's the Black Knight?" a youngster, no older than twelve, interrupted.

"You mean you've never heard of the Black Knight, the scourge of the Cerapiri Empire?" the old man continued, the empty ale mug still clenched tightly in his frail hand. "He's been pillaging everywhere in the Empire for almost five years. But he has a special place in his heart for Rednalwen. And he had to have it for his own. So slowly, very slowly, mind you, he frightened people away. He keeps the kingdom for himself now, the blighter. He always works alone, and always keeps to himself. No one has ever bested him in a sword fight, or even come close enough to make a dent in his black armor, crafted from the strongest of formulas that no one else has ever learned. He walks here and there they say, dressed as a simple commoner. But it's his red eyes that give him away."

"That can't be true," a drunk nearby scoffed.

"Can too," piped up another, stepping closer to the one who made the claim. "Me eyes be red."

"Ye eyes be not red, they be orange," the man replied.

"And ye be drunk."

"Ye too."

"Some, very few, direct descendants of the masons who crafted the great Red city itself, actually have crimson eyes. He may be one of them," yet another man interjected, his face hidden by a deep blue hood. He was not drunk, or at least not nearly as much as the other men about him.

The story-teller nodded. "Aye. That's right. But anybody foolish enough to check the Black Knight's eyes would probably find himself dead before they could actually tell."

The man in the blue hood nodded, and with that, left the tavern to emerge in the dark, foggy night. He had heard the tale several times before. It was spread everywhere in the Cerapiri Empire, across all four of the still highly populated kingdoms, Jevarci, Kadamierna, Auslonuea, and the central (and main) kingdom, Cuernio.

The man walked to his horse, a magnificent black stallion. He untied the reins, and climbed onto his steed easily. He prodded the horse with his heels, and the horse started to gallop, heading north west, away from the main road. Diagio, the town he was leaving, was a small town on the far east edge of Kadamierna, the eastern empire. It was a gathering place for thieves, bandits, and all kindred of those hiding from justice. It was the perfect place to begin the hunt for the Black Knight.

The man rode swiftly, his purple eyes not leaving his desired path. It would be quite the hunt for the man. But he was no ordinary man. He was the Prince of Lerufna, Damaro, and was destined to take it back somehow. He rode alone, as he always did, preferring to fight the Black Knight one on one instead of in a group like a common coward. He wasn't frightened at all, though he believed that the Black Knight should be. Damaro was a man that none other had ever bested at swordplay, and his intelligence was also rarely matched. He was tall, towering over all but the tallest of elves from Jevarci, the western wood. He was handsome, as most princes were, but even more so than usual. He was human, but his strength rivaled that of the gigantic Caboras, creatures stronger and larger than horses with large tusks and a spiked tail, from the South Western Wasteland. He was determined to hunt down this evil, and take Lerufna for himself. It was his birthright as Prince.

He was only 13 when the Black Knight started scaring people away from Rednalwen. He was now 20, and he swore to his parents that he would put an end to the fiend.

Damaro sighed softly, and continued riding. After this was over, the Empire would be safe again. Well, saf_er_. He was going to be betrothed to one of the four princesses of Auslonuea, and forced to marry for title rather than for love, like all other royalty in the Empire. He, however, actually wanted to find his one true love. He knew that love was out of his reach, and that, perhaps, was why he still wanted love more than anything.

After three weeks of riding, the crumbling watch towers of Rednalwen were in sight. It was nearly dusk; the sun had almost disappeared beneath the horizon. Damaro smiled. _Finally_, he thought, _a chance to restore my family's honor by besting the tyrant._

He urged his horse to gallop faster, steering his stallion, Fibyon, towards the now broken gates. As his horse galloped, he examined the parts of the city he could see. A lot of the once bright red marble was now covered in black plaque, moss, and other plants. Two of the four huge towers had collapsed, and probably a lot of the other buildings had, too.

He passed through the gates, and into the streets. The once white marble streets were now yellowing. Several fine stores and taverns were empty. No lights shone from any of the windows that had once been alight. He looked around the dismal city, wondering what kind of villain could possibly do this to a place. He looked upwards, to where the castle still stood. There was a light in the highest tower. Smirking, he urged his horse through the streets to the palace.

The palace was the crown jewel of the city, even after years of neglect. Damaro hopped off of his horse, and tied the reins to a nearby post. Bravely, he walked alone through the palace gates.

The courtyard was gloomy, the weeds and vines all overgrown. The hedges needed clipping, and the only flowers were weeds. He ventured through the overgrown paths. There was a miniscule amount of color, hidden behind a bush. He walked over, only to find a huge patch of roses. There were several different colors on several different bushes. Maroon, lavender, white, yellow, pink, orange, and even red roses were scattered about. One rose caught his eye. It was in the very center of the entire patch. The rose was larger than any of the others, and pure black. He bent over slightly and reached forward, stretching his fingers towards it so he could feel the soft petals.

Out of no where, there was a sword tip at his neck. "Stand," a gruff voice ordered.

Damaro had no choice but to obey. His right hand strayed to the now empty sheath, and he gasped slightly. He turned to face the man, his eyes dark. "The Black Knight," he growled angrily. "Return to me my sword and face me like a man."

Behind the helm of his armor, the Black Knight laughed darkly, and twirled Damaro's sword in his left hand, his right still holding his own sword to Damaro's neck. "You shouldn't have intruded. This is my land, my city, my castle." The Black Knight moved closer to him, taking in his scent. "You're royalty," he said. "Good. The more spoilt the better. I'll get quite the ransom for you."

Damaro glared at him. "Is that all you do now? Wait for someone to come after you, and capture them?"

The Black Knight shook his head. "No. I pillage and plunder the nearby towns, never leaving my treasures for long." He smirked, and then continued. "Would you like to meet the last man who tried to kill me?" he asked cruelly. He put Damaro's sword to his neck, sheathing his own sword. From a spot on his own belt, he pulled a pair of manacles, and quickly fastened Damaro's wrists inside them. He then proceeded to take Damaro's sheath, strapping it to his own belt. He pulled a dagger from a small sheath, and put that to Damaro's back. Damaro's sword, now in his sheath, was around the Black Knight's waist. "This way," he said darkly, directing him with the point of his dagger.

Angrily, Damaro walked, going only where the dagger directed him. There was nothing he could do. The Black Knight was smart, surprisingly so.

The Black Knight steered him inside the palace, and into the main entry. Damaro looked around in awe. The inside of the palace was just as he remembered it, not a tiny thing out of place. The Black Knight removed the dagger for a second, and Damaro took his chance. He slipped his manacled arms around the Black Knight, pinning his arms. "Now we're both in a predicament, aren't we, Knight?" he hissed dangerously. "Free me, give me my sword, and I will release you. We'll settle this like men."

The Black Knight nodded, and he pulled his manacles off of the dark one. The Black Knight put his dagger in the sheath, and removed the Damaro's sheath and sword. He handed it back, and pulled a key from his belt. He undid the manacles, and reattached them to his belt.

Damaro rubbed his wrists for a moment, and then drew his sword. "We fight, Black Knight. Should I win, you come back with me to Byalito."

"And should I win, you become my captive, only to be ransomed. And you will swear never to come after me again."

"Deal," he replied, then slashed at the Black Knight's thigh. The Black Knight parried, and started slicing at Damaro. Damaro parried quickly, admiring the skill of the Knight.

The fight was long and tiring, taking a toll on both of the fighters. Damaro was losing his strength, and it seemed as if the Black Knight wasn't losing any energy. Desperately, he flicked his sword downward, hoping to trap the Black Knight's sword under his foot, which he did. He raised his sword to right beneath the Black Knight's helm. "You lose, villain," he said, smirking. "Remove your helm." The Black Knight sighed heavily, and pulled it off with his right hand. Black hair tumbled out, and crimson eyes stared back at him. Damaro gasped, his mouth agape, his sword still at the Black Knight's neck. "You… you're… you're a… a **_woman_**?" he stuttered.

"Oh well spotted," she retorted coldly. Her crimson eyes sparkled dangerously, and pointed ears poked out from behind her long black hair.

"Remove the armor, witch, and tell me where the real Black Knight is," Damaro ordered, his sword piercing her skin a bit, forcing a red droplet of blood to appear on her otherwise fair neck.

She glared at him coldly. "I'm sorry. You said witch, not wench, so excuse me for not agreeing to stripping myself of my armor in front of you."

He realized that she had a point, and sighed, exasperated. "Fine. Where are your belongings, witch?"

"Keep calling me witch, prick, and you won't get anything from me."

He breathed heavily, and looked her over. "Fine. Pick up your sword, and lead the way to the place you can change, elf." She nodded, retrieved her sword, and led the way up the large flight of stairs, Damaro's sword still at her neck. "Do you have a name, elf?" he asked as he peered about.

"Eniarron," she replied softly. "And yours, _Prince_?"

"Damaro," he answered.

She stopped at a door, and looked to him. "This is it. I swear by my sword that I will return," she said, and he nodded. She entered her room, and shut the door tightly.

Damaro leaned against the wall. The roses made sense now. But her sword-fighting skills. _She can't possibly be the real Black Knight_, he thought. _She's an elf, for the sake of the Gods, an elf!_

The door opened, and Eniarron emerged. She was taller than average, even for an elf, and her body was slender. She was clothed in a long black riding dress, her sword in its sheath around her waist. She held out the manacles and keys she had trapped him with earlier. Damaro took them, and she held out her wrists. She was cold and commanding, but a prisoner none-the-less. He clapped her in irons, and his eyes locked with hers for the first time. Her eyes were like fire, and they completely startled him. He blinked, and grabbed the chain between the manacles. "Come along, Eniarron. You have a dark appointment with destiny."


	2. 2

It was a long ride back to Byalito.

It has been a two week ride back. Eniarron was silent the entire ride, her hands manacled, her armor and weapons in a sack slung on her back. Damaro was unsettled by her silence. It was as if she knew something he didn't. But he still couldn't understand that _she_ was the Black Knight. She was as cold as the mountains of the northern border of Lerufna, and as dark as a stormy night. And yet, she was so fiery, her attitude as fierce as a wild stallion, her eyes dancing with fury every time he looked at her. She was so unlike the other elves, except in her secrecy.

It was a welcome site to Damaro's eyes to finally see the northern gates. Eniarron didn't gape, as most did; she merely gazed over it, leading her silver-gray horse onward. Damaro glanced at her distastefully. "You'll face justice soon, witch."

At that, she shot him a glare so icy he almost shivered. "Two weeks of silence, prick, and you forget my first and only request."

He glared back, his mind reeling in an attempt to reply. He drew his sword, and put it to her neck. "One more word about it, _witch_, and you won't need to worry about it anymore." He removed his sword, sheathing it again.

"Slimy git," she hissed, smirking.

"You think I was joking?" he asked, reaching for his sword once more.

"What you don't realize, Prince Dumb-aro, is that without me, you have no title."

He sighed, seemingly giving up. "My humble apologies, Lady Black Knight, for knowing myself to be better than you."

"Only in looking uglier. If looks could kill, the whole Empire would be dead just by glimpsing your face."

They rode through the gates side-by-side, still arguing. "Common tavern wench."

"Female street slut," she hissed in reply.

He gasped, still leading the way to the royal residencies. "How dare you speak to me in that manner."

"How dare I?" she asked, laughing wickedly. "Because my words are my weapons when my hands are trapped."

He nodded. "When you look at it that way, it actually makes sense." He stopped his horse, Eniarron doing the same near him. He slid from his steed, and looked to her. "Do you need any-" His words trailed off as he watched her hop down. She looked at him pointedly, her expression unreadable. He grabbed one manacled wrist, and steered her inside gently while a stable hand took both horses.

The place was huge, a miniature palace with several servants bustling about. On their way, a lot of them glanced at Eniarron curiously. She simply looked about, mildly interested. Damaro led her onward, through several halls, and into a well-furnished study, shutting the door tightly behind them. A man sat at the desk, old age apparently catching up with him. Shockingly blue eyes appeared tired, and auburn hair was streaked with gray. He looked up as they entered, his aging face expressionless. "Damaro, my son," he said, rising. The man was once King of Lerufna, Sadabio. "Who is this Drayla?" he asked, using the honorific for a female elf, as he stopped in front of Eniarron.

"This, father, is the Black Knight," Damaro answered.

Sadabio gasped as he walked towards them in front of the desk. "But she's female! And an elf!"

"And one of the greatest fighters I've ever seen."

Sadabio nodded, looking her in the eye. "Do you know who I am, Draylana?" he asked, calling her dark.

"Yes, sir," she replied. "You are King Sadabio of Lerufna."

"No longer king," he replied sadly, his voice low. "Do you have a name, Knight?"

"Eniarron, sir," she replied, her crimson eyes sparkling.

Sadabio turned to his son. "You bested her in a fight?"

"Yes, but only just. I thought she was a man. And I intended to bring her to justice."

Eniarron glared at him darkly. "I have committed no crime!" she interjected, suddenly struggling against her manacles.

"No crime?" Damaro shouted, wheeling about to face her. "You are the Black Knight, the crime lord of the Cerapiri Empire!"

"Crime lord?" she yelled back. "Who ever said crime?" Damaro paused, suddenly unsure. She smirked. "There's the proof. I am no criminal."

Sadabio shook his head angrily. "You're still a villain," he hissed. "Guards!" he shouted, and two barged into the study. "Escort the elf to the lowest dungeon." The guards nodded, and each grabbed one of Eniarron's arms. They pulled her from the room, leaving the door open.

A woman walked in, her brown hair streaked with gray. "Why are your guards taking an elf to the dungeon?" she asked angrily.

"Adelaide," Sadabio said, "she's a villain."

"She's the Black Knight, mother," Damaro added.

Adelaide gasped. "But she's so… so…"

"Feminine?" Damaro supplied.

"Yes," she replied.

"There is nothing good in her, my love. Evil has possessed her," Sadabio said, taking one of her hands. "Stay away from the Draylana, for your own safety."

Eniarron sighed, and resumed her pacing around the cell. Not only was she the only female prisoner, she was the only prisoner.

Her armor had been moved to a table right across from her cell. Her sword and dagger, in their respective sheaths, tugged at her eyes through the small window in her cell door. And she could do nothing.

She was trapped like a bird in a cage. Though she was innocent, her reputation preceded her. No one knew the truth aside from her. And no one cared to learn the truth.

She stopped pacing, and sat atop the pile of hay rather than on the stone floor. Yes, she was innocent, and had only agreed to go with Damaro to prove that she was. It was to be a cruel process, but effective none-the-less.

Footsteps echoed from the beginning of the prison cells. Eniarron paid them no attention. Nothing in the world could save her from justice. She could no longer look to the sky with hope, and no joy would fill her voice. Doom was her destiny.

Keys clattered at the door, and it swung open. The older woman Eniarron had passed on the way down to her cell stood in the doorway. "Come with me," she said.

Eniarron stayed where she was. "I do not know you, and I highly doubt that you know me."

The woman nodded. "I am Adelaide, Damaro's mother."

"Eniarron," she said, rising from the stack of hay.

"I know who you are, Eniarron, and what you do," Adelaide whispered once Eniarron had come to the door. She handed the elf her black armor. "Pull it on quickly." Eniarron gladly obeyed. With all but her helm back on, she quickly placed her weapons back on her belt. Adelaide smiled. "Ready?" she asked.

Eniarron nodded. "How do you know who I am?" she asked.

Adelaide reached over, and brushed Eniarron's black hair away from the left side of her neck, showing a small tattoo of a rose. "'The long-necked rose in red will reside, their destiny entwined with dark; their reputation in turn will set others aside, and protect again with just one mark.'"

"The prophecy," Eniarron whispered.

"I saw your tattoo, and the small wound on your neck, while they dragged you off."

"But how did you know the prophecy?"

"I was the one who said it." Eniarron gasped. "I am the last of a great line of seers. It was I, and no other, who said it. I also delivered it. I know of your rank, and what you had to do to escape all of it. You are brave beyond recognition, Eniarron, and none realize that." Eniarron smiled weakly at the complement, and shifted her weight awkwardly. "You have to get back to Rednalwen, and quickly. From what Damaro told me, you walked your horses the entire journey. It will take you about a week, but it may be too late by then." Adelaide turned, and led the way down the long dungeon hallway. Eniarron pulled on her helm, and walked with her.

It was a long walk to the stables through dim corridors. Through windows, the late night sky was visible, and the moon threw its light through the panes. Adelaide led the way through a large doorway, and the Black Knight followed. The stables were extraordinarily well taken care of. The Black Knight quickly located her stallion, and quickly strapped the intricate saddle to its back. She climbed up, gripping the reins tightly in her gauntlets.

"Eniarron," Adelaide said, looking up at her, "take the northern street until you reach the gates. Head west along the wall and you will come across a smaller, unguarded gate. Sneak out through there, and head directly back to Rednalwen. I will do what I can to stall Damaro."

The Black Knight bowed her head deeply from her position on her horse. "Thank you for your help, Adelaide. I am forever in your debt."

"The time to repay my kindness is not now. Ride swiftly, Black Knight, for the good of all."

The Black Knight nodded, and dug her heels into the stallion. The horse reared, and galloped off, riding into the starry night.

Adelaide smiled weakly, and headed back inside the palace. There would be hell to pay in the morning, but for the moment, the night's peace would last.


	3. 3

It was a bleak morning.

Gray storm clouds had filled the sky, hiding the sun behind a curtain.

Damaro awoke from a nightmare, his brow beaded with sweat, his muscular bare chest heaving. His nightmare was so real, it felt like it had almost happened. But there was no way that Eniarron could have really escaped.

He shoved his blankets off, and swung his legs over the side of his bed. His long black sleeping pants barely swept the floor as he strode to his closet. He dressed himself hastily, his impatience taking its toll. Formal black pants now covered his legs, his torso hidden by a silk shirt of a royal purple that matched his eyes.

He stormed out of his room, and walked along the many hallways alone. He raced down the stairs, and into the main corridor of the dungeons. His footsteps echoed through the empty cells, taking him nearer and nearer to the end. "Eniarron?" he hissed as he rapped on the door impatiently. As no answer reached his ears, he dared to peek inside. His jaw dropped as his eyes scanned the empty cell. She was gone.

He sprinted back past the other empty cells and up the stairs again. He walked as fast as his feet would carry him to his father's study, where the doors were shut. He burst in rudely, his chest heaving as he looked from his mother to his father. "She's gone. Escaped."

Sadabio merely stared, his shockingly blue eyes filled with hate ad anger. Adelaide gasped, quickly covering her mouth with one hand. "Did you check the stables?" Sadabio asked.

"No, but I'd be willing to bet that her stallion is missing, along with her horse's saddle."

Sadabio nodded, and sighed softly. "She's out of our range now, Damaro. She was bested by you once, she won't fall to your blade again."

Damaro nodded, smirking slightly. "That's why we have to arouse the armies. If it will take the entire Empire to bring her to justice, so be it."

It had been three weeks since Damaro knew Eniarron had escaped.

Summons had been sent out immediately to the rulers of the other four kingdoms. Replies were also sent back immediately, and soon three armies were marching to join the other two at the capital. Kadamierna's army of dwarves arrived in one day, and helped stock provisions for the rest. The army from Auslonuea arrived in 5 days' time, and the elfin army of Jevarci arrived the day after that.

Two days later, the five armies began the march. Damaro had ridden at the head, along with Prince Anmordel of the elves, General Eidolon of the south, Master Grimaulden of the dwarves, and General Dierno of Byalito. It was a strong assembly of the finest of the five great armies, all ready to take on one single being: the Black Knight.

Damaro had told none but the four leaders the true identity of the Black Knight. Prince Anmordel was the only one who hadn't appeared to be surprised, but his tone when he spoke revealed just the opposite.

The broken towers of Rednalwen came into view in the middle of the morning. The leaders quickly issued orders for the troops to infiltrate the city while they explored the palace themselves.

Noise was heard all across the Red city once more as the troops began scouring the city. Hooves clicked on the yellowing white marble as Damaro steered his horse toward the palace. The gates were just as he had left them: broken. He dismounted, the others following suit behind him. He unsheathed his sword, and stepped into the deserted palace first.

The courtyard was just as bleak as it had been for some time. Damaro walked straight through, heading into the palace with General Dierno right behind him. Master Grimaulden stomped along next, with General Eidolon at his heels and Prince Anmordel not far behind. Damaro looked around the large entryway, his eyes meeting no signs of life. "Spread out, search this level and the dungeons only," he ordered, his voice grim. "This could be a trap."

"Aye," Master Grimaulden grunted. "An elfin witch can single handedly trap all five of us at once," he hissed, his words trailing away as he headed towards the dungeons alone.

Damaro shook his head, and walked into the huge dining room. The old table was completely covered in dust, the candles untouched for quite some time. He strode through it quickly, and into the library, where Anmordel was scanning the shelves as he made his rounds. Damaro sighed softly, and stepped out into the entry hall again to wait for the others, who arrived one by one, none of them having found anything.

The second floor was searched in the same fashion, and not a trace was found there either. It was with great anger and fear that Damaro treaded up the old stone stairway to the highest tower. The door at the top was unlocked; the old handle was loose in his hand. He pushed it open, and looked about.

Eniarron was chained to the far wall of the chamber, her black hair scattered about her face untidily. Her form was limp, and there were several rips in the crimson dress she wore. There was a large cut on her lip, as well as several bruises and smaller cuts on her neck. A long gash was visible where the sleeve of the dress had slipped from her shoulder. She looked up from her miserable position, her eyes lacking the force that was usually behind them. Damaro stared. He couldn't believe it. Someone had beaten him to it.

Behind him, the rest of the group filed in. "Her?" Grimaulden asked. "She is the terrible Black Knight?" he asked, his voice cruelly sarcastic.

"She seems no stronger than a piece of wet bread," Eidolon teased, laughing wickedly.

Damaro glared at both of them, and turned his gaze to her again. "What happened?"

"Gaerizons," she murmured, her voice weak. "They're invading."

"Gaerizons?" Dierno asked mockingly. "The goblin-like beasts of the northern mountains? They're only myths intended to frighten young children."

Damaro looked her in the eye, his gaze still icy. In her eyes, he saw something stirring. It looked like an axe swinging at his head. Instinctively, he ducked and wheeled around in one motion, coming face to face with a Gaerizon. The creature was indeed goblin-like, but quite a bit larger. Its canines hung over its lip like an animal, its eyes yellow and fierce. Damaro swung at its stomach, killing it instantly as the blade connected with its body. He looked to Eniarron again, and sheathed his sword. "How long have you known?"

"Nine years," she whispered. "I've been keeping them out with the Black Knight's reputation. Word had spread through their scouts that I was gone, and several were sent here. There were two that survived, one only barely. He died only a few hours after helping the one you just killed to chain me here."

Damaro sighed unnoticeably, and looked around to the other leaders. "Alert the troops. Scour the stocks for extra provisions, and search around for any extra weapons. We need to be prepared." All four nodded, and filed out of the room slowly. As Anmordel disappeared after one more glance at Eniarron, Damaro walked over to her. "Where are the keys?" he asked. She pointed with one finger at a hook on the wall with the key ring. Damaro fetched them quickly, and immediately started working on freeing her. "I'm sorry that happened."

She shook her head, and rubbed her wrists as he released her. "You couldn't have predicted that." He nodded, and stood, offering her his hand. She took it reluctantly, and he helped pull her up. She stood shakily, barely gaining balance on her own two feet. "Thank you," she said softly, her voice raspy.

"I should have believed you. But I just couldn't fathom that they were the reason you started scaring the people away from here."

"No one did. I had to escape in the middle of the night after I found out it was my duty to fend them off. It was fate," she added, and moved her hair away from the left side of her neck, showing him the rose tattoo. "I never wanted to do any of it," she murmured, her crimson eyes meeting his purple ones once more.

"You are elfin royalty, then?" Damaro asked gently, moving a strand of hair from her eyes.

She nodded grimly. "I had to fake my own death in order to escape, which explains Anmordel's silence." He merely looked at her quizzically. "I was betrothed to him." His gaze softened, and she sighed softly. "Thanks again," she whispered, bowing respectfully. She turned quickly, and headed down the staircase.

Damaro sighed heavily. There was just something in her tone that implied she hadn't been the happiest to see him. And frankly, he wasn't too happy to hear that. He shook his thoughts away violently. _I can't be falling for her_, he thought. _She's an elf! Betrothed, too. But she's just so different._ He shook his head again, and left the chamber.

Eniarron emerged from the kitchen into the dining room, bearing a large tray laden with several different dishes. The leaders had been sitting around the table, strategizing. She had been forbid from entering the conversation because she was a woman. Naturally, she had protested, but her words fell on deaf ears. Instead, she had busied herself with fixing lunch after she had changed from the ripped dress.

"…left flank indeed, but we'll still need to have a main central force," Dierno said, and looked up as Eniarron entered, the other four pairs of eyes following his gaze. She set the tray on a part of the table that hadn't been covered in maps. Knowing all eyes were on her, she merely curtseyed, and exited the room via the main doors, the skirt of her silver dress sweeping the floor as she walked.

"Eniarron!" a voice called, but she didn't turn. She started up the main staircase, but the person managed to snag one hand as she fled up the first two stairs. She spun around, only to find herself looking down at Anmordel. He squeezed her hand, and pulled her nearer gently. A smile lit his face, his green eyes sparkling with joy. He wrapped his arms around her in a gentle hug, which she reluctantly returned. He pulled back, one arm still around her slender waist. He reached up to her, and caressed her cheek gently with his finger tips. "I thought you were dead," he whispered, pulling her closer.

"Anmordel," she said softly, her face smiling but her eyes not. "I had to fake my own death. I had no choice in the matter."

He shook his head, leaned closer, and kissed her forehead. "You have no idea what it means to find you here, alive. My heart died that day, and I nearly faded. But something kept me alive, some glisten of hope in the darkness. And now I finally know what it was." He paused, and merely looked into her eyes. "The sparkle of crimson behind every tale of the Black Knight." She smiled weakly, her gaze sweeping downward. He traced her cheek again, and tilted her chin upwards gently. "You never truly dwelled on me, did you?" he asked, his tone stern.

Her gaze fluttered away from his once more. "It was a forced betrothal, Anmordel."

"Not on my part."

"But on mine!" she said angrily, her eyes finally locking with his.

"You never protested," he argued smugly.

"Just because they never reached your ears didn't mean that I didn't."

He pulled her closer forcefully, his gaze still met with hers. "I loved you, I love you, and I swore to forever." He leaned closer, and pressed his lips to hers. She struggled against the kiss, only to have him kiss her harder. He finally pulled back, his breathing slightly heavier than before.

Enraged, Eniarron did the one sensible thing she could: she slapped him, using the back of her hand, with all of her might, on his right cheek. He freed her, and staggered backward. "I hated you, I still hate you, and I swear to for all eternity." She glared at him for one more second, then turned on her heel and stormed up the stairs.

Anmordel glared at her retreating back. His pride was just as hurt as his cheek, and his heart remained broken. Angry, he slinked back into the dining hall, his cheek still noticeably red. He took his seat without taking any notice of the others, who had already started on lunch without him.

Damaro looked up as Anmordel sat down, immediately trying to read his feelings. As there was only one other in the palace with the strength to redden a man's cheek like that, it could only mean that he had angered Eniarron. Damaro quickly stood, his fork clinking as it hit his plate, and excused himself.

He walked from the room as quickly as he could, and dashed up the stairs. Only one door had been shut, and he immediately went straight for that one. He knocked on it lightly, and waited for a response. When no answer came, he knocked again. "Eniarron?" he called out softly, knocking again. As no reply came once more, he gripped the handle, twisted it, and let himself in.

Eniarron was sitting on the windowsill. Her lengthy black hair was twisted into a braid that hung over her right shoulder. Her crimson eyes were fixated on something in the distance, staring hard. Damaro opened his mouth to speak, but she beat him to it. "I knew someone would figure out what had happened; I just didn't realize that it would be so soon."

He nodded, and walked over beside her. He leaned against the other side of the window casually, his purple eyes resting on her. "Why?" he asked softly.

Her head turned quickly, and looked up at him, her crimson eyes meeting purple ones for a brief second before she looked away again. "He hugged me in greeting, and then told me what he had a thousand times, one arm of his still around my waist." She looked up again, her slender fingers now toying with her braid. "That he loved me."

Damaro shrugged. "Why is that so trivial?"

Eniarron stood up, and looked Damaro in the face. "Because he kissed me the very next moment. I struggled against it, and he just held me tighter."

"And then you slapped him with enough force to free yourself." She nodded, and he smiled gently. "His face was so red that it might even blend in with the walls of this city itself. It takes a very strong arm to leave a mark like that."

She laughed softly. "Thank you," she said gently.

He smiled, his eyes fluttering down to her neck. "The rose," he said, awed. His gaze then moved to the small scratch. "And the mark," he added, his eyes locking with hers once more. "You're the one spoken of in the prophecy."

"How do you know of it?" she asked, even though she already knew the answer.

"My mother…" he started, but his voice trailed off. "My mother!" he exclaimed, suddenly surprised. "She freed you, didn't she?" he asked, his temper rising. Eniarron merely nodded, her head turning to look out the window again. Damaro reached out, and touched her cheek gently, turning her head lightly. He met her eyes again, her eyes filled with tears and her cheeks slightly red from those that had already escaped. "I should have known from your silence, Eniarron. I am so sorry," he whispered, his hand still on her cheek. He wiped away some of her tears with his thumb, and just looked at her. "I've hurt you purposely, Eniarron, I've offended you, and I've let them push you around. If there is anything I can do, Eniarron, just say the word."

She shook her head, and wiped away the remaining tears on her own. "There is nothing," she said softly, her left hand straying to her neck, where it rested on the tattoo. "The prophecy was right."

He nodded, moved his hand from her cheek, and rested it on top of hers. "Why were you marked with the rose?" he inquired.

"In our language, 'en' means beautiful, 'iar' means crimson, and 'ron' means flower. Most roses are red, but in the year I was born, the crimson rose was more prominent."

He nodded, smiling. "Your name suits you," he whispered.

Her cheeks reddened slightly, but she continued anyway. "It is also the mark of the Vianere."

"The _what_?" he asked curiously.

"The Vianere are very, very rare. Only one is born every seven centuries. They are more commonly known in your lore as Guardians."

Damaro gaped, squeezing her hand lightly. "By the Gods. I knew something was different about you." She smiled weakly, and he grinned back. "But you have no wings."

She shook her head gracefully. "But I do. We are gifted with a special ability that few know we have: invisibility. We can hide our wings, and ourselves, at will." She took a step away from the window, and closed her eyes for a second in concentration. Behind her, a pair of wings appeared, attached to her back. They were bird-like, with black feathers making up most of it. Crimson feathers rounded out the edges, bringing out the color in her eyes.

Damaro's jaw dropped, and he met her eyes once more. "I never would have guessed," he whispered. "May I touch them?" he asked softly. She nodded sheepishly, and spread them out fully. He stepped closer, and reached out to touch her left wing. He ran his hand up along the front of the feathers, starting at the bottom, and then ran his hand along the back. Her feathers felt like velvet, and he continued stroking them gently. He ran his hand along the ridge of her wing, stopping at the very tip. "Thank you," he whispered, "your wings are beautiful." He grabbed one of her hands, and kissed the top respectfully.

She smiled genuinely, her cheeks slightly brighter than before. His hand had felt like silk, just brushing against her feathers lightly. "You're the first person I've let touch them," she whispered in reply. She retracted her wings, and hid them from view once more.

"Thank you once more, then, because I must say that I've only felt one thing softer." She looked at him curiously, clearly urging him to continue. "Your skin," he whispered. She blushed lightly again, and smiled bashfully. He stepped closer, his majestic purple eyes still locked with her crimson ones. "You stole my kingdom, you stole my city," he said, pausing. "And you've stolen my heart," he finished, placing one hand on her cheek gently. He leaned in, intent on bringing his lips to hers, but she turned away.

"Like it or not," she said sternly, "I am betrothed."

Damaro turned Eniarron's head back towards him once more, stoking her cheek with his thumb. "As am I. But I wish to follow my heart, not my head." He leaned in once more, and pressed his lips to her gently. The kiss was light and innocent, and yet, still beautiful. After what felt like a blissful eternity, yet was only a few seconds, he pulled back, smiling. She grinned back at him, and he took the opportunity to slip his arm around her slender waist, pulling her closer. "If perfection has ever existed, it is you."

She shook her head, and looked away. "As far from it as possible, actually," she murmured.

"Don't think so lowly of yourself, fair Eniarron; you are greater than you think."


End file.
